January 29, 2011

Dear Lucia,

Today you were full of giggles. You just love being airplane baby. You can be teething and upset or fussy, and if one of us picks you up as an airplane you make the cutest face. You stop fussing and get so excited about flying. You drop drool bombs on us down below. It's a shame we were both so sore from shovelling snow. I could barely lift you above my shoulders but I did it anyway, because you love it so much. You love to sit on my lap and look at whatever I'm doing on the computer. You are so incredibly interested in any of your toys. I love that alertness about you. It shows me that your brain is fully functioning and sharp. You make connections, give careful consideration and thought to every little thing. When I held you on my lap to read Yummy Yucky, you went to turn the pages. You understand what happens next, the process of reading, or at least you remember what we do when we hold you in our laps and read. So amazing.

It is getting easier to talk about your story. I still can't do it without crying. I can't. I tear up instantly. No matter who I'm talking to. At least now the tears aren't all sad. They still are a bit, I'll admit, but I suppose mainly because I'm still shaken, still traumatized. I still battle anxiety and nightmares. At the same time, I know it is your story. It has made you who you are. One day you'll see pictures of you as a baby hooked up to breathing equipment, tubes everywhere, monitors. You'll see pictures where you are bloated to 14 lbs at 1 week old. I was blind to these extra details. All I saw was you, my baby. I remember Dr. Dennery saying that Daddy should take a picture of you and send it to me to prepare me for what you looked like. I was just happy to see you. I didn't remember what you looked like. It had been 4 days since your birth and I'd only spent a total of 3 minutes with you, if that. I wasn't scared when I saw you. I went quickly to whatever part of your body I COULD touch (3 fingers on one hand and the top of your head) and I touched you, talked to you, kissed you. I told you everything, how badly we'd wanted a baby, how much we loved you, how we talked to you in my belly. I sang to you, I sat and just tried to transmit the love I felt through a touch of 2 fingers to your head. I wanted you to know it was me. Your eyes were closed for days. I would see them open after that point but even then it was briefly. All of this was going on, and I really only saw you. I saw you with my heart. I bonded with you in whatever ways I could. You clung to my finger tightly. You had a firm grip. This gave me hope when there was none. Your spirit was there, you were fighting hard.

Now I look at those pictures or I talk about your birth and it's still enough to make me tear up, but I also feel tears of joy. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. Every positive report from your doctors and therapists is amazing reassurance. I still worry, and I will for a while. We're not out of the woods by any means. But you grow stronger each day. As more time passes, I'm allowed to enjoy you. I let myself enjoy you. I'm not going to miss out on all the fun stuff you do at this age because of fear. I refuse. There is fun stuff in abundance. Your laugh is beautiful music. When you smile, I can't help but smile back at you, a big goofy crazy smile that makes my cheeks hurt. I never smile so much as I do when I'm with you. So I do get tears in my eyes, but they are mainly happy tears. And all the little things, from spitup to poopy diapers, to waking up in the middle of the night as you are teething and fussy are gifts because they make life feel more "normal".

I love you, Lucia Hope.

Love, Mama